


I Want To Feel You From The Inside

by Thoughts Like A Minefield (Incog_Ninja)



Series: SPN Kink Bingo 2019 [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Ass Play, Bondage, F/M, No Condoms, SAMHANDLING, thorough winchester fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 19:49:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17648789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incog_Ninja/pseuds/Thoughts%20Like%20A%20Minefield
Summary: Square Filled: Rough SexSummary: They missed each other.Created for: @spnkinkbingo





	I Want To Feel You From The Inside

**Author's Note:**

> NIN was on heavy rotation during the writing of this piece. Leave me some love!

“Sam,” his name is a whisper from your lips.

“Stop. Talking,” he says, his hands encompassing your waist as he walks you backward. When you feel the sofa back hit your ass, he spins you, grabs a handful of your hair and twines his fingers in the strands, grips your hip hard with his other hand, and pushes at the back of your head until your bent over it.

You gasp into the soft fabric of the cushion. You don’t want to disobey, but you’re just so relieved to have him again – touching you, keeping you safe and warm.

He curls his fingers into the back waistband of your sleep shorts and wrenches them down enough to bare your ass to his touch and his sight. “Just can’t help yourself, can you?” He smacks your right cheek, warming your skin and your heart. “No matter what I say, you just keep talking.” He smacks your other cheek a little harder this time and you moan. “Keep teasing.” Another smack over the fleshy part of your right hip, and  _god, he’s really here_.

“Sam,” you whine.

He leans forward, drapes himself over your curved back, letting his weight press you into the furniture, your sternum gently compressed and pushing breath from your lungs. He plants his fist into the cushion, and you can see the whites of his knuckles, bleeding the desperation you feel in your soul.

“No words,” he whispers in your ear, twists your hair a little tighter in his grip.

It’s a command and a confession. Sam won’t ever relinquish control or admit defeat, not to you, anyway, but you hear it in his voice, read it in his words – he missed you and he needed you. Just like this.

He stands upright behind you, and you stay put. The clink of his belt buckle has you buzzing, and you close your eyes and sigh. The zing of leather through denim loops, his hand leaving your hair to gather your wrists, and the chafing of leather against your skin revives the wet from hours before, has it trickling down the insides of your thighs.

“You’re gonna be nice and quiet for me, now,” he says, wrapping the spare length of the belt around his wrist, tightening the belt, and kicking your feet apart.

“You’re gonna spread your legs and stay put.” He takes his free hand and smacks your ass twice in rapid succession, one to each cheek, and you bite back another moan. Then his hand is between your legs, fingers dragging through the slick mess, pushing inside and using the heel of his palm to grind between your ass cheeks.

“And you’re gonna fuckin’ love every single minute of it.” His voice is edged with cruelty, but you know it’s a show. You know he does all of this for you. He calls you names, humiliates you, manhandles and bruises you because you want it. He wants it too.

He stretches you so well, knuckles you open, curls his fingers, twists his wrist. “It’s been too long, baby,” he whispers, pressing his thumb against your back opening, pressing inside to his first knuckle and you can’t help but hiss. “That’s right,” his voice soothes and bites. “I’m gonna make you hurt  _so good_.”

You arch your back slightly, push onto his big, rough hand. You bury your face between the two puffy cushions to stifle a groan as the knuckles of his two fingers slowly rasp over your g-spot.

Sam jerks the belt, radiating pain and heat up your arms, over your shoulders and your chest. “You’re gonna come so hard and so often, you’ll forget I ever left.”

That’s a lie, but you don’t call him on it. You’ll never forget the hole he left behind, the pain, the heartache, the emptiness. He’s filling you up right now, but he’ll leave again, and then what?

“You’re gonna take me anyway I want.” He swirls his fingers inside, gathering the slick then drags it back and replaces his thumb with his middle finger all the way inside. You spread your legs wider, sink your teeth into the cushion to your right.

“Good girl,” he says, a smile lighting his tone. “You want more,” he says, pushing a second finger in to join the first, and it hurts, and you love the slow twist and burn.

He lets go of the belt to grab your thigh from behind with bruising force, pushes your knee up over the back of the couch, uses his hip to keep you in place then makes quick work of his pants. He unzips them, pulls his hard length from inside, not bothering with the button.

“You want this, too,” he says, smacking against your clit with the thickness. You can hear how wet you are, feel his fingers slowly hammering your ass and his cock teasing you so well. “You want me to wreck this pussy.”

Then he’s pushing the head just inside, teasing you more. You sob into the cushions, bury your head deeper. “The only reason I’m givin’ you what you want right now is that I want it too,” he asserts, pushing painfully slow. “But we’re doin’ this my way – make no mistake.”

Once he’s fully inside – fingers twisting and thrusting, and his hot, hard cock seated to the hilt, the curve grazing your g-spot – you let go a deeply held breath and brace yourself for the onslaught. When it comes, you almost lose it right there.

Sam digs fingers into your thigh where it’s propped up on the back of the sofa, pulls back and pushes in hard. He uses the fingers hooked inside your ass as leverage as he ramps up his speed and strength. The sofa lurches with each thrust and you’re flailing, helplessly taking what he gives.

“How could I…” he whispers, changing the angle and depth of his thrusts. “How could I think I could leave you?”

It’s not a question for you, but you ponder the answer. You shake your head, not wanting to acknowledge what’s in his head at that moment. You just want him, holding you, loving you, fucking you – pure and clean of the angst you’ve endured these last few weeks.

You say his name again and he grunts, grinds into you and makes you gasp. “Sam, please,” you beg him not to stop moving.

“Yeah,” he says, grits his teeth and slams you against the sofa again. “Yeah, you want  _this_.”

Of all the things you want from Sam – you want it all, the whole package, everything he is and does and gives –  _this_  is all you can have right now. He has to understand that.

“Come on and come,” he says. It’s all commands this time. He wants to make you come, feel it. Then his buzzer’ll go, and you’ll be done. You want to make it last. So you try to hold on.

“Dammit, come now,” he growls, sliding the hand that holds your leg up underneath you to rub over your clit. The triple sensations are too much, and you can’t hold on any longer. You come on him, crying his name and shaking underneath him.

He doesn’t slow down, he doesn’t relent. His hand goes back to your bruised thigh. He pulls his fingers from your ass and grips the belt, yanks hard. And when he picks up again, it’s harder than you can ever remember.

The sofa jolts across the floor, the wooden legs scraping the pine underneath. You will not be able to walk tomorrow; maybe not even when you stand up – if he lets you stand up.

You’ve always been amazed at Sam’s endurance, his ability to draw it out. His self-control is something of a marvel. Before long, you’re building to another orgasm – this one’s deep and hot. You know you’ll make a mess.

You moan and your head lolls to the side, cool air rushing over your cheeks. Cursed blessings pass your lips and your hair is matted to your sweaty skin. You’ve never felt this free with anyone but him – to come this openly, this hotly, to be bare and raw, to tell him everything you’ve ever wanted to say. That last part’s long gone, though.

“Talk to me,” he says, rutting into you. “Tell me who you are.”

You whimper and close your eyes. You pray this means he’s back, that that last part – telling him everything – is back. “I’m wrong and needy.”

“Baby,” he groans, yanking the belt, sliding his hand underneath again to slap your sensitive, exposed clit. “ _Whose_  are you?”

You whimper his name. “Yours,” you reply, tears streaming your cheeks. “Please, Sam…”

Amongst the thrusting and slapping and the curses you both emit, you come and he follows, roaring your name and damning you to Hell.

**Author's Note:**

> SAMHANDLING © @marksmanfem


End file.
